


Music With Our Mouths

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye says “I’m in a band” like it’s this grand thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music With Our Mouths

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic at 4am after two cups off coffee, but I'm going to black out this bingo card, so I'm posting it before I regret it. I was going to write something else for the "band au" square but its gotten really long, and isn't going to be finished by the end of the month, oops.

Skye says “I’m in a band,” like it’s this grand thing.

It doesn’t matter that there band has played a total of four gigs in the past year, or they keep having to switch out drummers cause Ward ‘defected to the enemy’ and then Trip decided that Rock N Roll was more his style, or that nobody in their band actually has the slightest clue what the letters in their name stand for.

To her being in a band is the best thing in the world.

Not just because she gets to jam out and have the time of her life, but because of her amazing bandmates.

Or well, one band mate in particular.

Jemma Simmons, the best vocalist this side of the Mississippi, when she sings it’s like baby angels crying, like all of Skye’s dreams come true. She’s got a voice that could melt even the most frozen of hearts, something Skye knows quite personally.

That is if she would put her book down and actually start singing.

“You know the point of band practice is for us actually to be _practicing,_ ” Skye says, poking at where Jemma’s laying across the ratty couch that had become a permanent fixture in their practice room ever since Skye had picked it up off a street corner months before.

“We don’t have a drummer,” Jemma reminds her, as though she could have possibly forgotten, “and I have an essay for my molecular biology class that-“

Skye groans cutting her off, the last thing she wants to hear about is Jemma’s schoolwork.

College sounds exciting in the movies, but she can get all of those experiences by living in a college town without having to waste any of her money on an education she doesn’t entire want. She gives Jemma props for being all about that education nonsense, but that doesn’t mean she ever wants to heart about it.

“You would write a song about homework if you could.”

“At least, it would be educational!”

“We are not becoming _School of Rock_ or _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ or whatever that dumb kids show that sang the song about how bills became a law-“

“Schoolhouse rock,” Fitz, one of their other band mates, supplies completely unhelpfully from his seat in the corner.

She flicks a guitar pick in his direction, but she’s pretty sure she misses by a mile if his snicker is anything to judge off of.

“Jemma,” Skye whines, honest to god whines because nothing short of that will actually get the other woman to look up from her book and remember that they are in fact _in a band_.

“Yes, dear?”

“Put your book down and come over here to make beautiful music for us with your mouth.”

Jemma’s eye roll is only slightly charming, though the teasing upward tilt of her lips as she says “you only like me for my mouth,” is more than just slightly charming.

“Well after what you did with your tongue last night,” Skye starts with a wink.

Only to cut off by Fitz’s groan, “seriously, I’m still in the room! The last thing I need to hear about is your _bloody_ sex lives.”

“You could leave the room,” Skye suggest, “though then we won’t get any practice done.”

“We don’t have a drummer,” Jemma reminds them, “perhaps we could put off practicing until we get a new one? Fitz can go make fliers or something to find a new one, while we could do other things.”

“Other things,” Skye repeats, wiggling her eyebrows, while their only other band member groans again.

“I hope you both realize our next drummer is going to be super attractive, one hundred percent my type, and we’re going to hook up in the practice room so much it makes you two look like nuns,” Fitz says, as he gathers up his things in a huff.

“Keep dreaming, kiddo.”

“I’m older than _both_ of you,” are his last words before he’s out of the practice room and the two of them are very much alone.

She waits a moment, even counts to ten once the door has shut, before saying, “so about that thing where you quit reading and hook up in the practice room, how soon can that become a thing?”

“Ten more pages,” Jemma informs her matter-of-factly.

As great as being able to say _I’m in a band_ is.

As great as standing on that stage at some random bar on the edge of town is.

As great as it is to make music with her fingers.

None of those things compare in the slightest, to hearing the sound of Jemma snapping her book shut a few unbearable minutes later, before saying, “oh Skye, you might want to take off your pants.”


End file.
